


Hunt You Down

by Kath (KathWolfie)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Disturbing dreams, Horror, M/M, a kind of morbid romance, lots of death I kid you not, mentions of suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathWolfie/pseuds/Kath
Summary: Something in his guts twirled, tangled, crawled like an animal desperate to flee snare’s grip - now he remembered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little something for the HQ-RARE-PAIRS’ Halloween Fest.  
>  **Prompt: Horror**
> 
> Heavily inspired by Jacek Dukaj’s “IACTE” and “The Cathedral”. 
> 
> Recommended tracks: [1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohJ1xf4PFao) & [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXpnI52cLEc)

It started with Kindaichi. They found him by the campfire. Yahaba and Hanamaki had to pull Kunimi away from the funeral pyre, otherwise he would have gone with his friend. 

That night Matsukawa had a dream. Black mist engulfed him, licked his skin, filled his lungs with a scent of burned grass. There was something in his mouth. He spat it into his hand. Flower of poppy. 

From then on, every two days, they woke up to the sounds of sobbing, screams of powerless fury and grief-stricken, blasphemous curses. With time it subsided - they lost all the people who could mourn. Each death brought new dream. The black mist started to take shape, materializing more vividly in the quiet of the night, to the point Matsukawa felt himself drowning in shiny, onyx-colored plumage, his mouth full of ruby petals. It was a gentle touch of tuft, lover-like so, that made his mind reel at the close promise of morning death. They were tightly interwoven, his nocturnal delusions of an unshaped, unnamed, feathered lover and the eternal sleep that awaited his comrades at the break of dawn.

* * *

Another pyre. Matsukawa could not stop thinking about the poppy when he gazed at the dancing flames, the ashes blown by the wind resembled his beautiful, deadly mist. No recollection of the name attached to the burning body. He covered his mouth to hide the unnatural twitch at the corners of his lips.

Are you alright, Hanamaki inquired, palm reassuringly squeezing onto the tense shoulder.

I might be getting ill, Matsukawa replied simply, disgust and impatience swirling inside him.

Sunrises came with sorrow. Oikawa was losing sleep, losing control, losing himself. Iwaizumi became fury incarnated, righteous anger at the unknown murderer fueling his desire for revenge. He stood before the elders, back straight, eyes sharp. He demanded Hunt. 

Hunt what exactly, Matsukawa asked on the day a small expedition of experienced Hunters and Warriors was preparing themselves for departure.

That Thing, Iwaizumi answered, grabbing his bow and fastening the sheath of his sword to the worn out leather belt.

Aren’t you going with them, Hanamaki tried when the last man disappeared behind the shadowy wall of Great Forest.

They won’t come back, Matsukawa stated, expression blank. The gust hit his cheeks with a phantom touch of feathers, his tongue already tasting poppy seeds. Lightning cruised through his spine, small shocks boiling the impatience in his stomach.

You are getting ill, Hanamaki whispered just before leaving.

Evenings came with sick anticipation. Mustiness in the wind spoke of slow, agonizing end. And yet, dusk whispered sweet promises of reunion, a secret meeting with the ethereal beloved. Matsukawa dreamt of wings obscuring his vision, hiding the sky before his eyes, their warmth lulling him into a sense of security before they morphed into a heavy weight of thousands of petals, glow from the small clearances leaking crimson on his skin. He did not care he was slowly dying under the pressure - blossoms on his face were like steady hands, guiding him for a kiss. In maroon light black centers of seeds became brown eyes gazing at him from under lowered lashes. Come, they beckoned, clear and resolute. I dare you, they challenged, offering honeyed pleasures and total destruction. By the time his lips met with the lips of his winged Dream, Matsukawa saw nothing except poppies. 

They found Iwaizumi’s corpse by the river, exactly two days after they discovered the boneyard full of their companions’ bodies. 

Oikawa descended into the deepest part of hell. 

Matsukawa’s fantasy tasted like ash, and blood, and exhilaration of absolute insanity. He almost suffocated in his sleep.

The Thing took Hanamaki.

Oikawa came back, but his soul didn’t make it. With each passing day the fear grew, their numbers shrunk. And with each passing day, the madness cloaked Oikawa’s mind tighter, leaving no place for air. Their once intelligent, caring and hardworking leader had no more feelings left. There was only malice, venom flowed in his veins. A vengeful avatar of hatred.

When the pyre’s smoke cleared he approached Matsukawa.

We are going to Hunt, the shell of Tooru Oikawa spoke.

You won’t make it, Matsukawa concluded. Clammy palms enclosed around his arms, gripping with too much force to be the hands of his friend.

This time you won’t stay here and wait for the night, Oikawa spat, beautiful features turning into an ugly mask of repulsion.

They left the village in silence. Matsukawa had only a torch. Oikawa had enormous knife and anguish.  Dark leaves, darker needles, russet tree bark, sun painted its last beams with daffodils, carnations, roses. Invisible paths of Great Forest emerged under the trained eye, still of the woods disturbed only by the soft sound of nimble steps. Oikawa uttered no word. Somewhere between the village and the river he took out his blade.

Long hours have passed. Forest bedding became drier. Moonlight shone through the thickening tree crowns, fallen leaves crunched under the pressure of two pairs of leather loafers. Oikawa guided them to the Cavern. Black entrance to the world’s insides could not be hidden even by dark shadows of monstrous bushes growing around it. People said fear reigned in these tunnels, murder and depravity spawned the things that lived there. Matsukawa visited the Cavern once when he and Hanamaki tracked down a wounded moon bear. His memories of what happened that day, of what he saw and what he did to get out of the sinuous entrails of the earth, were gone. The First from the Hunters, the elders bestowed the title upon his return. He took what was given to him. Now he smiled to himself. Oh, irony. The First was also The Last from the Hunters. All dead, burned to dust and fading memories. He would follow in their footsteps soon enough.

They breached the threshold between the safety of the woods and dangers of the Cavern, crossed a bridge between reality and nightmare, dipping in the tar of its gloom. Matsukawa was ordered to light up the torch they brought. He complied without a word, the flames burning not with gold but pure white.

Something in his guts twirled, tangled, crawled like an animal desperate to flee snare’s grip - now he remembered.

The Cavern breathed death and magic, birthed destruction and creation, kept secrets and showed the truth.

The tip of the knife was pressed right under Matsukawa’s left shoulder blade. The rhythmic ramp of feet did not cease, did not change. Slowly, they sank into the darkness, the air smelling of acid and maliciousness. Some sort of wonderful definiteness bloomed at the front of tired mind, submerging it in calmness no living being could fathom.

Stop, Oikawa demanded. The flame flickered. The moment became infinity, time stopped in place. The dam crashed down.

Why, liar, murderer, why did you let them die, why did you watch it happen with this sick gleam in your eyes, why were you the only one who seemed to wait for mornings, who desired the reclusiveness at sunset, why, why, why, Oikawa’s rage and sadness mixed, undertones of hysteria ricocheting against the stone, questions hung between the irregular walls, irregular heartbeats, irregular pulses.

I cannot answer you, Commander, Matsukawa declared, strange, tranquil coldness painting the sentence. Finality closed his eyelids in calm contemplation.

Die, was the last word Oikawa spoke to him.

The other waited.  

Bones cracked. Liquid splattered Matsukawa’s back. The blade never reached its destination. Crack, crunch. Something wet hit the ground behind him. Slowly, he turned around, white light of the torch casting shadows over Oikawa’s unmoving body. Pale skin tinted blue, limbs contorted in a horrid, gruesome way. The carcass was now nothing more than a twisted mass of muscles. But the Eyes. Eyes opened bizarrely wide, even after death still frozen in pure horror. Others looked the same, they faced the same terrors. Matsukawa was next. A feeling, spike of ice piercing his gut. The Thing would slaughter them all.

Feathers rustled. Illuminated by the silver gleam, they shone in a way polished onyx shines. The Thing stood naked before him. Raven wings trimmed with poppies, covering its silhouette, hiding blotches of dark fluid splayed over tanned skin.

Ah, Matsukawa thought, ah, so this is how it is.

Quiet One, the Thing greeted, brown orbs gentle at the edges. A stark contrast to the sharpness of fangs, the lethality of hook-like claws. Was this punishment? That his Death was also his Dream? Half-human, half-beast, lips full of blood and sin, eyes clear and warm, opposites merged into one, pulling in, tearing apart. 

What are you, Matsukawa asked, taking one big step over the corpses lying under his feet.

You forgot a lover, the Dream mocked, beautiful in its quiet deadliness.

I did not, I could not. I forgot everyone else. So I ask one more time, what are you, Matsukawa approached his Dream, fingers brushing against the coal-colored fluff, finding fresh petals woven in between. The wings opened, allowing him inside their embrace. Clawed hands stroked the material over his heart.

I am your World. Your inside and outside. Everything you want, everything you despise. I am what you made me to be the first time you came here.

His World. His creation. Delirious thoughts, innermost demons brought to life by the powers he did not comprehend. The cotton over his chest tore under the World’s claws.

It wanted him dead.

The mangled body of his friend behind the feathered curtain. Memories of funeral pyres, too many funeral pyres, ashes and grime blocking his windpipe. Tears, pleas, curses, nothing could make it right.

The certainty of death was a blessing.

The Quiet One let the World kiss him goodbye before it ripped his heart out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on HQ!! Wikia and my own lurking:  
> Issei (一静) - Quiet one  
> Daichi (大地) - Ground but also Mother Earth; The World 
> 
> So. [This pic summarizes my thinking process pretty accurately. ](http://31.media.tumblr.com/a8dcbd5b689b695b688d160d3b14e01d/tumblr_mqgrx1N8Fg1qe9g4mo1_r1_500.jpg)
> 
> I have never written something like this, I just wanted to experiment a bit with different style and genre… And now we’re here. I’m sorry, my Seijoh babies (especially Kindaichi, you are too pure for this particular universe, it had to end like this).
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://at-the-road-beginning.tumblr.com/)


End file.
